


All The Dragons Of Our Lives

by LittleSilverBirds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Bi Dean, Character Death, Demi Castiel, Detective Castiel, Grieving, Loss, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, Supportive John Winchester, Tattooed Castiel, and cry first, and its sad, but this kinda spoils it so im burying it in tags, deans a mechanic as usual, how do you tag, i abandoned blackbirds for this ok i abandoned my other longfic for this, its gonna be garbage but its MY garbage, john winchester actually tries to be a parent, lets all just appreciate editors for a sec, lil bit of ocd, may or may not have art coming it depends if she wants to do it, mine and my long suffering editors garbage, she had to read this first, sorry OUR garbage, theyre all gay, this fic has been my baby for over a year so let me have this, this fic is full of gay characters i just realised this now, this is a long one folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-08-25 18:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16665871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSilverBirds/pseuds/LittleSilverBirds
Summary: When Deans brother goes missing his life slowly falls apart, and everything he built starts to crumble.He's isolated, lonely and struggling with his demons, until Castiel, a quiet detective running from a few demons of his own, comes into his life and changes things altogether.





	1. Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a work in progress, I may change it later, same goes for chapter titles

"Dean, chill," Sam said down the phone, "Just think of it as another test, okay?"

"Its an exam, Sammy, its not a pop quiz. I cant flunk this."

"Remember what your therapist said," he went on, his voice still calm and level, "When you feel yourself getting worked up just stop and-"

"Stop and breathe, yeah I know," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes tight shut, "Yeah. Okay. Its...its just a test."

It was so, so easy for him to wind himself up about school. He wanted to do well, needed to do well cos he wanted to make mom and dad proud for going to college and making something of himself. Especially dad. He needed to give him something to be proud of. He opened his eyes again and stared down at the books in front of him, three to be exact, all about various engineering related things and it was stressing him the fuck out because no matter how much reading he did he couldn't get it through his head. 

"You'll do fine, Dean," Sammy told him, he could hear the smile in his voice, that encouraging one, "You're smart, I know you'll ace it."

God he was such an idiot. He hadn't needed to call Sammy in a while for something like this, and he was doing great but this test just stressed him out too much. He needed that common sense filter or someone to just tell him to chill out for five minutes because his brain wasn't good at just relaxing like normal people.

"Thanks Sammy. Listen, I'm sorry I messed up your night, I shouldn't have called and-"

"Shut up, Dean, you didn't mess up my night, it hasn't even started yet. Listen, I'll be home late but I've got my keys so you can lock the door and go to bed early so you're up in time for that test tomorrow. You've got this. And take a damn break now and then, you know it isn't good to just stare at the books for hours on end."

"Yeah okay, thanks," he sat back, leaning against the headboard on his bed and the corner of a poster tickled the back of his neck, "I'll see you tomorrow Sammy, say hi to Gabe for me."

"Will do. Night, jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam laughed as he hung up the phone. A fond, happy laugh that he'd heard so many times before. And at the time he'd taken it for granted, now he wished he'd spent more time listening closer, memorising the exact tone and sound of his laugh, little inflections on certain words, watching the way he smiled or how he tipped his head back when he laughed hard.

Because that night, that phonecall, was the last time Dean heard his brothers voice.

* * *

 

_And don't tell me how_

_I'll smile and pretend and won't show to the crowd_

_And I'll go without_

_Punish myself for not knowing about_

_This lie, this lie_

_This lie that we're fixing to die_

* * *

 

Gabriel hated him. He knew he hated him. How could he not? It was his fault according to him. He still came to visit months later because mom and dad considered him family. More family than Dean was now anyway.

He was Sams boyfriend before he went missing and he was having as much trouble moving on as the rest of them. Mom became obsessive over the arrangement of the china cabinet in the dining room, and thankfully that was all. Dad spent a lot of time at the shop working overtime. He was just trying to cope like mom was with her china. Dean just got worse in general. He started adopting some of moms habits, the old ones before she got better, but in his own way. Like the dishes had to be stacked a certain way before he felt comfortable. Or the couch cushions had to sit just so and power sockets had to be switched off if they weren't in use. Right now with the coffee cups. Gabriel was left handed, so of course the handle on his faced the left. Moms faced right. He so, so badly wanted to go and fix it. He distracted himself with the dishes instead. They were washed already, but he needed to busy his hands. Desperately so.

He could feel Gabriel staring at him as he filled the sink and put all the clean dishes from the drying rack back into it. Ever since the man arrived at the house the edge he'd been balancing on got thinner and thinner. He wanted to go to his room and stay there, but his mom liked having him in the room when people visited.

He'd sort of moved back in with his parents. Part time anyway. His flat was a little suffocating sometimes, and some mornings he couldn't get out of bed long enough to do much other than stress himself out over not getting up. It reminded him of Sammy too much, walking past his bedroom every morning, finding his oatmeal at the back of the kitchen cupboard, accidentally grabbing his mug. Gabriel had been the one to take most of his stuff and pack it away for Dean, because Dean couldn't stand to go into Sams room anymore. Even with the flat emptier than before it was still too much sometimes.

He wasn’t dead. He hadn’t been officially declared so anyway. But he’d been gone too long without any leads, and the cops stopped searching for a missing person and started searching for a body instead. But he wouldn’t let himself believe that. He couldn’t let himself believe he was dead. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead.

Circular motions. Rinse. Drying rack.

 _Dean_.

Circular motions. Rinse. Drying rack.

"Dean, Gabriel was talking to you," his mom said gently. She only ever spoke softly to him like she was afraid he'd break too and she'd lose both sons. Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight and finished the dish in his hands.

"I was saying that I've got my cousin coming to visit next week and I was kinda hoping you'd show him round a little." Oh no. Dean could already feel his stomach tying itself in knots, "He's got a job in the city so he wants to move, and I'm gonna be busy with work and stuff so I wont be able to do much."

Two things Dean didn't cope well with. New people and going outside. At college, before he decided to take a year away, people assumed he was just lazy. But no, it was far, far worse. Being gripped by unbridled fear every time you go into a densely populated part of town was worse than lazy by miles. When Sam was with him it was bearable. But now it was unthinkable. Not because he needed someone to hold his hand, but because if he ever needed to call someone Sam was there. Sam got it, he was his brother, he knew how his brain worked and what to say to get him functioning again.

"Please," Gabriel broke out the P word, and Dean felt sick. "I know it’s a big ask but you'd be doing me a huge favour man."

"Gabe tells me he's nice," mom said, "Quiet but nice. All you'd have to do..."

He didn't hear the rest. He was focusing on not losing it in the kitchen. Because one: Gabriel was probably throwing up in his mouth having to ask Dean to do this. Or mom suggested it in a bid to 'get him back out there' or something, she was always badgering him about putting up a notice for a flatmate since he was one guy in a two bedroom flat and it'd be easier to share rent. She was probably just trying to help him move on or something but didn't understand just how much he couldn't do that. Two: A new person. That was a whole world of anxiety on his own never mind the fact he had a million opportunities to embarrass himself by showing him around. He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

"Okay," he heard himself say, "Just text me."

* * *

 

The only time he didn't feel so horrible was when he lost himself in music. Whether he played it or listened, didn't matter. Music soothes the savage beast so they say, and Deans beast backed off a while when it was involved.

He'd received notes from neighbours on occasion when he started playing after. Requests for certain songs slipped under his door and compliments, and one or two to ask politely to try not play at 3 in the morning. He tried as best he could to honour those requests.

He played the piano, and guitar sometimes, mostly piano because some classic pieces lasted long enough to take him out of his head. Thats what he needed now, an hour before he had to leave for work was enough to take his mind off things. It worked for the most part.

The piano sat at the back of the living room and for a week or two after Sam disappeared had just gathered dust. Couldn't bring himself to touch it. Music was something he associated, and still did, with his brother. The piano was more Sams thing though they both played, Dean had his guitar and was the more musical if the two though made no effort to pursue a career in it. He loved it but not that much. When he played he felt closer to Sam. He knew he needed to move on, stop being so hung up on it, but sometimes he needed that push, that little nudge that Sam always gave him. The push to get out of bed, to eat, to go to work. He needed it more and more recently.

Skinny Love flowed into Let Her Go and he had just enough time to finish the song before he really had to go. At least for a while the edge was just enough to stand on.

* * *

He wasn't an animal person, never had been. That was Sam. He volunteered at the shelter on weekends and nearly every day in the summer. And there was this one mutt that he took a liking to, Riot. A collie mix he always asked to adopt but they never had the time for a dog. Dean always promised they would someday. He swore when Sammy came home they’d finally get that dog, he’d get one tomorrow if he thought it would bring him home.

"Hey Dean," he was greeted as soon as he went through the automatic doors of the shelter, "How you holdin' up?"

Charlie was a friend of both of them, and knew Dean well. She knew about his issues, and knew how to pick her words so his brain didn't jump to all the wrong conclusions. She didn't hesitate to hug him, hurrying out from behind the desk in her blue work outfit covered in pet hair. Good thing Dean remembered his allergy medication before he left this morning. He came by regularly, to visit Charlie and to feel closer to Sam, few places did that anymore.

"Same old," he replied with a heavy sigh, today had tired him to hell and back. "No better no worse."

"Now I know that's a lie, Winchester," he couldn't get past her, could he? "But I'll let it slide. For now."

"Riot still here?"

"Yeah," Charlie led the way through the back of the shelter where the barking was coming from, "Not here to adopt him are you?"

Dean didn't like dogs too much. Bad experience with one as a kid put him off for life. But Riot was the exception. Something in Sam had stuck with Riot and he thought Riot somehow knew what it meant. Either that or he just enjoyed the visits from Dean when Sam stopped showing up. For some reason no one wanted to adopt him, whether it was his three legs or that he was wary with new people and kids.

There he was, in the very last cage at the back of the kennels, he came over when he saw Dean coming. Still wagging his tail, even if it made him stumble. Sometimes it made him want to cry seeing Riot because he reminded him so much of Sam, and he was such a brilliant dog but no one would give him the chance he needed.

"Its a damn shame," Charlie said as he bent down to greet the collie. He wasn't too sure whether she was referring to the dog or how pathetic Dean was, "Just a damn shame."

Riot licked his face, and pretty much everywhere else as he made little impatient sounds because Dean wasn't petting him enough for his liking. How could no one have adopted this guy yet?

"Listen Dean," Charlie started, sounding a little like she was walking on eggshells which was unusual for her. "I've got my lunch break in ten minutes, and theres a real quiet place you'd like. Pretty much every time I've been there its been dead. They do good pie."

He almost laughed, Charlie remembering his addiction to the pastry. And while going out for food was anxiety inducing he trusted her, more than he trusted most people. Mainly because she tried to accommodate his dumb anxious shit wherever possible, and didn't try to just drag him into uncomfortable situations and hope he coped. She listened and she cared.

"Yeah we can get lunch," he replied, not turning yet. Riot demanded his full attention. "Hope you're right about the pie."

* * *

She was telling the truth about the pie. Of course she was. They did a brilliant pecan. But he knew that she didn't bring him here for pie, she brought him here to talk obviously. They hadn't done that in a while. And maybe the pie was just a ploy to get him out, like showing a dog a treat to get it to sit. Charlie was crafty, and as well as having spare keys to his apartment she had a pretty good knowledge of how he ticked from years of putting up with him in high school, so she knew pie would get him to sell his damn soul if it was good enough. But the cafe was empty, as promised, and that helped. It was totally dead, one person on the other side of the room with a latte and laptop and some old music playing over the speakers but that was it.

"They're still there," he said when Charlie asked about his nightmares, "Shitty as ever. I cope."

It wasn't entirely a lie. He woke up in cold sweats some nights, others he had to lock himself in the bathroom until it went away, sometimes he could just go back to sleep. He was alive, he classed that as coping. His old therapist probably wouldnt, maybe call it shitty coping mechanisms at best, but it worked. For the most part. There was a lull in conversation before Charlie spoke up again, playing with a strand of her red hair.

"You still think he..." she didn't finish. Dean knew it was hard on her too, it'd been a shock for everyone and the past couple of months hadn't been easy for anyone who knew Sam. But Dean knew he didn't run away and he wasn’t dead, though everyone discredited him as the grieving, mental brother. Sam wasn't suicidal, he wasn't depressed, he wasn't addicted to Heroin and he would never have even considered it. He knew his brother. The way he just...it wasn't Sammy.

"He’s coming home Charlie," he said quietly, still finding himself looking round the empty cafe for onlookers or something. Nervous habit. "I know he is."

This was usually the part where Charlie tried to gently convince him to accept it and move on because he would finally heal. She meant well, she did, she wasn't like everyone else who just wanted Dean to shut up and get on with his life quietly. She wanted him to stop killing himself over this and go back to old Dean, but deep down he thought she knew that wasnt going to happen anytime soon.

"Yeah I've uh, she chewed her lip, "I've been thinking about it a lot and...and the more I think about it the more wrong it feels. He wouldn't have been in that alley in the first place, let alone..."

But there was doubt. And she wouldn't say it. She still believed everyone else, because everyone else made more sense. Their truth was easier to swallow. The last place he’d been seen was an alley round the back of a bar, doing what was unclear cos the witness was just some cab driver that saw him go down. And that’s the last anyone saw of him. Not a fucking trace afterwards. There hadn’t been a lead in months.

"Someone took him," he ignored how his heart hurt remembering the moment he had to call mom to tell her Sammy hadn’t been home since the night before and wasn’t answering his phone, "Someone took Sammy."

Charlie nodded not saying anything, taking another sip from her coffee so she didn't have to speak. He just needed her to say she believed him he knew she wanted to. Believing was half the battle, but the cops would never consider it. Especially since he had no suspects and no leads that hadn’t already been exhausted. Basically another dead end. 

“I should get back to work,” Charlie said quietly, digging a few bills out to pay for her lunch, and Dean did the same.

“I’ll come with you, see Riot again before I go.”

* * *

He woke up again, the second time tonight from nightmares he couldn't remember. He looked round his room, bare walls with patches where posters used to be. He took them down after Sam disappeared. He lost all interest in most things, he barely even watched TV anymore.

The dresser with the photo frames and souvenirs, nightstand and the mirror in the corner. All regular, familiar shapes. But it still felt off.

His chest felt tight as he remembered the nights when Sammy was little, and he'd comfort him after nightmares, and later when Sam did the same for him. But his door remained shut, as it always would now. No matter how long he waited, no matter if he called out to anyone. No one would come.

He felt the tears spill, running in tracks down his cheeks reminding him how much he lied when he told people he was fine. That he was okay and he wasn't grieving anymore. A sob worked its way out of his chest, quiet and juddering. Dean had never been loud when he cried. Something about not wanting to bother anyone else with it, or the fear of being told his tears were pointless and being totally abandoned.

Didn't stop him feeling completely and utterly alone now, winding his arms round his knees and curling up on his bed, the wide mattress making him feel small and helpless. No one would come no matter how much he cried. His grief counselor told him it was okay to cry now and then, it was therapeutic. It only made him feel horrible and disgusting, and childish for doing it in the first place. He could feel the walls pressing in on him, suffocating him slowly like each sob used up air he needed to conserve. He was suddenly glad he hadn't chosen to stay another night with his parents, they didn't need to put up with this. They had enough on their plates. Even if some selfish part of him yearned to have the gentle touch of his mothers hand on his face to dry his tears and a voice telling him it was okay. But he was alone, he had to deal with this on his own.

Why'd he have to go?


	2. Tomorrow

He wanted to just turn home, or run away down the street before Cas could meet him outside the old, decrepit Library. Sammy came here a lot, Dean drove him when he was younger and as they got older he started just going on his own. Very few places in this city didn’t remind him of Sammy anymore.

He wondered exactly what this Cas guy would be like, if he would be easy to handle or get frustrated easy or be just as bad as Dean was and they’d get nowhere. That in itself was tying his guts up in knots. Knots that tightened as he caught sight of a tall, disgruntled man in a long, tan trench coat stop on the other pavement, squinting up at the Library and back down at his phone before crossing the road when he saw him standing there. He was almost as tall as Dean, but held himself with more confidence, and had a walk like he knew what he was doing, where Dean kind of hunched with his hands in his pockets most of the time. He pulled his earbuds out as the man approached with a friendlier smile than he’d had a second ago.

"Castiel," the man said as he shook Deans hand, "Gabriel told you why I'm here I suppose."

"Yeah," Dean tried to make it convincing like he wasn't this close to vomiting. Again. He'd done it twice this morning before he left.

"Excellent," Castiel smiled warmly, gesturing to Dean, "Lead the way. Wherever you'd like to go."

Home is where he wanted to go.

It wasn't Castiels fault. In fact it was nobodies fault. Just the way Dean worked really.

The man wasnt in the least threatening up close. Some tangled dark hair and a set of blue eyes Dean immediately warmed up to, and a button down with jeans that made it look like a date but seemed like this guys version of casual wear. Dean felt like a hobo next to him. Where his collar opened up a little he thought he could see black lines, like a tattoo. Couldve been a trick of the light really. Dean wasn't exactly what you'd call a reliable person for reading people or remembering details given he couldn't maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds. He decided not to ask yet. Maybe a little forward for a first interaction.

"I- I'll show you the town centre first," he offered, "If thats alright."

The man nodded and waited for Dean to lead on, looking like Gabriel hadn't even mentioned who he was. Like he didn't know he was the town nutcase or how deep his issues went.

 _Or hes just a nice person_ , he thought to silence the vicious whispers in his head, _Not everyone hates you, y'know._

He wished he could believe it.

* * *

 

Charlie walked through his front door around two, her messenger bag got hung on the coathooks by the door and she dug something out before walking quickly and almost angrily to the living room. Her head poked round the door and she scowled at him, probably because he'd been lying here since seven in the morning in his jeans and a halloween sweater she bought him when they were twenty-two that had holes in it now. 

"Soup," she said, holding up the tupperware in her hand with an orangey-red liquid sloshing around inside, "Kitchen, Winchester."

As much as he hated to admit it, she was the main reason he didnt just end up lying on his couch and rotting away to nothing. He feared her wrath worse than getting evicted because he wasnt working to pay rent. Today was his day off though. And he hadnt meant just to lie there staring at the ceiling for however many hours, he just did. Zoned out. God, it was Thursday wasnt it? She always came on a Thursday, because on Wednesday her fiancee made a big batch of soup or stew or whatever she could make in a batch and sent her round with some to make sure he got at least one cooked meal with actual fresh ingredients in it. Dorothy and Charlie kept him alive when he didnt have the energy to do it himself.

"Minestrone," she told him, bringing out a saucepan and tipping enough soup for two into it, starting to heat it on the hob, "Dory sends her love in the form of soup."

"Thanks, Dorothy," he sighed and brought two bowls out of the cupboard, setting them on the counter. He leaned by Charlie and watched her stir the soup, looking more pissed off than a woman had any right to be while stirring soup, "You gonna tell me whats up or are you gonna make me ask?"

"Its- its nothing, Dean, I'm just...tired."

"Charlie."

She grit her teeth and tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the pan a little too hard, and a couple of flecks of soup spattered on the white tiles.

"Its him again, isnt it?"

Him being Dorothys dad. He didnt approve of them, not at all. And just when they thought they were rid of him he did something else, and this looked like a _"Geoff's at it again"_ kind of anger. 

"Hes not letting her mom come to the wedding," she spat out, "Or her little sister. The wedding isnt even fucking _planned_ yet and- and he's ruining it for her! God he makes me so fucking mad! Its literally only _him_ that has a problem with any of this and he's just ruining everything!"

She ducked her head, leaning over the hob like she was staring into the soup but her hands gripped the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles went white. Her hair was in front of her face but that was her go-to move for when she didnt want him to see her falling apart. She was an angry crier, and every bit of her hated it almost as much as she hated her fiancees dad. If he was a bolder man he'd have already sucker punched him, or worse. Dad threatened to when Charlie broke down at dinner once, when they were teenagers, but mom talked him out of it.

"Theres only one man in the whole world who can upset her," she told him quietly with a tremble in her voice, "And I spent last night watching my beautiful wife-to-be crying into her pillow because of him because I cant do anything about it. I cant fix any of this because no one on heaven or earth can change that bastards mind."

"I'm sorry," Dean let Charlie come over and wrap her arms round his chest, she only came up to his shoulder and was the perfect height to just wrap up in his arms and even just pretend he could protect her, "I hate what that asshole does to you two, you guys dont deserve that. Wheres Dorothy?"

"With her brother she- she needed to see-"

Her breath caught in her throat and she didnt look up from his chest, but uttered a bunch of curses into his sweater instead. It was easy for Dean to forget his own problems for a minute if he threw himself into looking after someone else. And Charlie looked after him so much he figured he owed her one. He stood still for a while, letting her get it out while he rubbed her back before he put his arms round her waist instead and picked her up. She cussed him out but he ignored her, carrying her through to the living room to deposit her on the couch with the throw over her lap.

"Stay," he told her, pushing her back down by the shoulders when she tried to get up, "I'll bring the soup. Just hang tight."

"No, I'm supposed to be looking after _you_ ," Charlie protested but drew her legs up on the couch instead, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, "Its Thursday."

"Yeah, change of plans," he ruffled her hair, stepping away, "Even superheroes need a day off, okay?"

She called him an asshole, but it wasnt nasty. She just hated that he was right. Charlie would run herself into the ground looking after other people if she could. And Dean tried to do what he could for her, which most of the time wasnt much but he tried. Even if it was just making her sit down for five minutes, or let her vent at him and be angry, or bringing her some of her fiancees amazing minestrone. 

He gave her the soup in a big, thick handled mug she could just drink it from, because she liked doing that. She liked curling up on the couch with a mug of something hot, literally anything, with something geeky on the TV, and he knew for a fact the Star Trek reboot was still in the DVD player from last time so he had the makings for a Charlie safe-zone. And thats how it worked, sitting at opposite ends of the couch in comfortable silence with their soup. And it got him thinking, not about Dorothys dad or whatever, but about what was missing. As soon as Charlie walked through the door the place seemed...warmer. There was more life in it. Maybe thats what was missing here, not a lack of friends but a lack of life in the house. Someone else to rattle around in here with. He wanted Sam, and thinking about literally anyone else living here gave him anxiety but maybe, maybe thats what was wrong. 

 _You cant wait for him forever_ , the voice in his head said, and for once he wasnt sure if it was the angel or the devil talking.

* * *

Castiel ended up in Deans flat because it started raining cats and dogs, and neither of had an umbrella. So they just ran back to Deans and hid from the weather for a while. Dean let him borrow some clothes while his dried, and pottered around in the kitchen with mugs and coffee. He stole glances round the doorway every so often, and every time Cas was still there on the couch looking out over the city at the rain in, Deans old sweatshirt that was a little long in the arms for both of them.

He looked comfortable, like he lived here himself, with his feet tucked up under him on the sofa and arms folded under his chin. And yeah, those were tattoos he had across his shoulders, but he wasn’t quite sure what of. Maybe wings? Or feathers? Scales even? He wasnt sure, and his curiosity was threatening to get the better of him. They still barely knew each other though. While it wasn't the first time they'd spent time together it was the first time he had Castiel over. There was no need before, this was a one off. Maybe.

"You play?" he asked, canting his head towards the piano in the corner as Dean handed him a mug.

"Yeah," was the simplest answer. Thankfully Castiel didn't ask him to. He didn't know how well he'd play being watched. "You've been here a while now, how long you stayin' with Gabe?"

The man shrugged, "As long as I'm welcome I suppose. Preferably until I find a place to stay."

"And you're here for a job, right?" He knew that, he was just making conversation for once in his life. He was rewarded when Castiel nodded.

"Thats correct. I start soon-ish so I better make up my mind. Its at the PD in town, hence the need for the tour," he ran his fingers through his hair, catching on a knot or two that he stopped to untangle, reminding him of the phase Sam went through when he wouldn't touch a comb. Thankfully it hadn't lasted long. "Sorry I probably bore you to death with all my work stuff."

"No its fine. I...I used to want to be a cop or a fireman when I was a kid," he told him, not really knowing why. He was that sort of person you felt like you could tell anything and your secret would be safe, "I was gonna look into it but uh, my brother went missing last year and it uh, it hit me hard."

After everything he'd decided just to stick to what he knew and be a mechanic. He was good at it, and he'd never have passed the psych test anyway, not with his mental history. Maybe it was a good thing, he didn't need more stress in his life.

His blue eyes went wide with realisation then, "You're Sams brother. Gabriel never gave me a name but he spoke about you a lot."

"Probably nothing good, eh?" he laughed mirthlessly, feeling his control starting to slip. He focused on his coffee instead, taking a long drink from his stupid Thomas mug he'd had for fucking years. Bullshit gift from Sam one Christmas, he'd hated it at the time but grew fond of the damn thing.

"No, quite the opposite actually," Castiel insisted while a voice in Deans head hissed _liar liar_ at him. "He told me how much Sam looked up to you and that, despite everything, you somehow remained a good person."

He shook his head, "He blames me, you know. I'm sure he does."

Cas frowned lowering the mug, "Why would you think that? If anything he blames himself for not... Anyway, he does admire your determination. Really."

Gabriel. Admiring him in any way. Hard to believe, especially with half of him screaming to just take the compliment and the other banging fists on the table calling Cas a liar. He really didn't know why he found it so damn hard to take compliments. Or believe people when they said anything remotely nice about him. It didn't even have to be said he just constantly thought every person in existence had a vendetta against him.

Sam helped though. Sam was so good to him and so patient that it started getting better, he started healing. And it was spiraling out of control again now he was dead. He hated life now. He had horrible thoughts about himself sometimes they couldn't even be called intrusive thoughts anymore, just plain self hatred. None of it made sense.

Cas shifted on the couch to put the mug on the coffee table and Dean realised he'd been silent for a good few minutes, there was no point replying to him now.

_Stupid stupid stupid._

But, he found, it wasn't an awkward silence. Not in the way it might with any other acquaintance. Cas just exuded this sort of peaceful aura that leeched into everything else, including Dean. He didn't seem to care that Dean never answered him, or looked to be ignoring him, no matter how much Deans head tried convincing him otherwise. He just watched the rain running in rivulets down the window contentedly, in his own world for a moment.

It was possibly the most relaxed Dean had been with someone other than Charlie for over a year.

* * *

He didn't know what made him decide to offer Sams room to Cas. Maybe he'd had a little to drink. Okay, maybe Jo kept annoying him a little too much about it because all he'd had was one damn drink of cheap beer. She kept pushing him and pushing him every time to just clear the room and get it on the market for a flatmate again. Drunk Jo was a little pissy with him and his reluctance to even look at the door in the passing. And his doormat-disposition caved at the slightest pressure from her.

But here he was, a couple of days after Bobbys birthday with his mom in the middle of Sams room clearing it out. Trying to anyway. He could feel his heart breaking bit by bit with each thing he moved. It was almost as if some part of him still believed Sam would come home.

"Its okay sweetie," mom told him, putting the first box on the bed as Dean just played with a snowglobe, "We're only packing it up, it'll just go in the garage. He'd want you to move on."

He heard the words but they didn't quite sink in. He watched the snow and glitter swirling round the plastic moose and remembered where they got it, some gift shop in Canada. Sam took a liking to it and Dean called him Moose from then on. Fitting since he grew to be a damn giant.

He turned it over again. Snow swirled. The moose stared blankly from his safety glass prison. He turned it again.

The second box was placed on the bed, half full, and he'd zoned out again. But mom didn't say anything though he kinda wished she would say what she was really thinking. How much of a waste of space Dean turned out to be. How big of a disappointment he was. Maybe then he wouldn't worry if she really was thinking it or not, it'd just be out there.

He decided he'd keep the moose for himself. Maybe on top of the piano.

Making himself useful he went to the closet, started taking all the clothes out for charity. Those he didn't have a problem throwing away. Sam gave all of them to charity anyway. Mom tutted when she found the mags under his mattress. Then, she'd raised two boys. She couldn't really be surprised at this point. The drawers held something entirely different for Dean to find though, instead of just clothes it was a brown package, roughly square and tied with string like a parcel. Just sitting at the bottom of the lowest drawer wrapped in a pair of jeans.

His hands shook bringing it to the bed, feeling the weight of his mothers gaze and the "Oh, Dean" that escaped her lips as a physical presence. He didn't want to unwrap it. But he went on anyway, trying not to rip the paper.

What fell out was a book, black and glossy. The inside of the cover simply said "To Dean, Happy Birthday, Sam." What followed took all of Deans strength not to shatter altogether.

Photos. Hundreds of them. From the first time Dean saw Sammy, right up until Christmas before he died. Dean looking at baby Sammy in his crib. Playing in the yard, family photos, first day of school for Dean. Then at Niagara falls, first family holiday and where Sammy got the snowglobe. Prom when he was seventeen, going with Charlie because he was too shy to ask Lisa. The first year Gabriel dated Sam and was a regular at the house, a picture of them all piled on the couch. Even Charlie. Various pictures of Thanksgivings, Halloweens, Easters, summers, Christmases, anything. All in the book. Then right at the very end, a picture of them both happy and smiling, Deans arm around his brother. And Sam had written next to that "Jerk." It was their thing. Dean would call him bitch and Sam would come back with jerk. Be would have smiled but he couldn't.

"He was going to give you that," his mom sounded teary, "He was so excited about giving you that book."

His hands shook terribly and he was past the point of tears, he couldn't feel anything anymore. It was like fate decided to deal him one last kick to the nuts, and this was it. He hurt too much and not at all.

Like he needed any more reason to hate his own existence.

"Dean baby," she said, running fingers through his hair and taking the book from him, "I know you're in there, I know what you're thinking and its not your fault. Its not."

He stared straight ahead at the moose on the dresser. He felt like he was trapped in a snowglobe too, sounds muffled, almost detached. He stared at the wooden train with the carriages that spelled his name. The glass of water that had long since evaporated. Anything that wasn't her so he wouldn't have to look at her and know she was lying.

He'd been on the edge for a while now and this... It pushed him over it.

He didn't know why.

Or how.

But he was falling again and he couldn't catch himself simply because he didn't know how.

* * *

 

_Don't bring tomorrow_

_'Cause I already know_

_I'll lose you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter done!   
> When I said slow burn, i meant it lmao, but we'll see more of Cas next time i promise.  
> PS- Song is Tomorrow by Daughter


	3. Medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo its been months but we're still alive! We're still working on this but we've both been drowning in college and uni and man we are nearly done! So close! More time to fic!  
> Theres probably many, many mistakes but I'll get them later if i can lmao

He saw Gabriel more than ever now and it was more difficult to avoid him or avoid exchanging words. But he couldn't exactly tell him to leave cos Cas lived here too, and he didn't exactly hate Gabriel either. Quite the opposite. Dean didn't hate him so much as the thought that Gabe might hate him. But he bit his tongue whenever he was round, not wanting to aggravate him. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation.

"This place brings back memories," he said at one point. "Weird being back."

Dean never responded to that. He had nothing to say other than unnecessarily spiteful words like _'Try living here with nothing but guilt'_ and _'If its so weird why are you here?'_

It seemed however that Cas was slowly pushing the guilt away into the corners, out of windows, taking up more space so that he had less to fill with all his negativity. Filling it with his coffee, the strange herbal teas that Dean was sceptical of, and his quiet routines. Strangest part was Dean didn't feel obligated to force conversation. He just talked when there was something to talk about.

He thought the front door opening was Cas coming home, so he took down an extra mug while he waited for the kettle to boil, for crappy instant coffee after a half day at work. He hadn't even showered yet still covered in grease and dirt from the guts of an impossibly neglected Honda. His heart sank to his stomach when it wasn't, in fact, his flatmate but his flatmates cousin, the one person he thought he couldn't handle today.

"Hey Deano," he said far too cheerfully, offering him a smile.

"He isn't home. Probably wont be until six or..." he trailed off, getting lost in stirring the coffee in his mug. The stupid Thomas mug.

"Actually," Gabriel sighed, claiming the mug on the counter for himself, pouring water in first before the granules. Dean never understood how he made coffee like that. "I'm here for you, if thats fine."

"For me."

"Yes, you. I just wanna have a talk, thats all. No biggie."

"See you say that and usually it means its a biggie," he thanked whatever god there was that he didn't stumble over his words like he would've normally. Though his heart had clawed its way into his throat at the prospect of a " _talk_."

Gabriel shook his head, "I mean it, no biggie. Just wanted to see how you're doin' thats all."

"Forgive me but I cant see why you'd care."

He sat at the table with his coffee this time, usually he'd bring it to the sitting room and watch tv with it. He didn't think this conversation was very suited for watching tv.

"Well you're talking to me its definitely an improvement from last time," he muttered, "Look Dean I care because you're my friend, just work with me okay? You think Sam would've wanted us hating each other? I know you blame yourself but _dammit_ Dean you- you think you're the only one? Like I haven't spent months trying to blame someone else but myself? If theres anyone _less_ to blame its you."

Dean frowned at his mug, trying not to feel sick, and trying to believe Gabriel. The man came to sit near him at the table and he was calmer when he spoke.

"You did so much for Sam, okay? It was not your fault, I don't blame you and neither does anyone else. Got it?" when Dean didn't answer he sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair, "I- I know... I know no one had a harder time, no one lost more than you did, Dean, but we all lost Sam. Alright? But you can't keep blaming yourself. Its gonna eat you alive. I dunno what goes on in your head but you know you've got me if you want to talk to anyone. And Cas is real good with listening too. You don't have to go it alone man."

After a long pause Dean finally said, "I'm doing okay. I'm getting better."

And Gabriel leaned back in his chair, wiping a hand over his face almost in relief, or frustration, he couldnt tell. Most of the time by the end of a conversation he was just...frustrated with him. But maybe this time it was because he was finally opening up a little, finally trusting whatever Gabriel said just a little even. It was a start perhaps. Dean didn't know. He was just trying to figure shit out right now. He didnt know. He didnt know anything.

"Yeah. You seem like it. Maybe this flatmate things doing you good, you're not rattling round in here alone all the time," Gabriel paused, drinking a little coffee before continuing. "How're you getting along anyway? I mean he can be kinda hard to swallow at first but..."

"Good. Its a little weird, not being alone so much. Don't get a chance to...I dunno."

"Dont get a chance to go out of your head?" he nodded, humming quietly, "Yeah, I know the feeling. Well I don't _exactly_ but...you know."

He trusted Gabriel when he said so. Hed been so blinded by paranoia and guilt, he couldn't see people trying to help really. He really couldn't help it, and he couldn't explain it well enough for people to help him either. His hands trembled less than they had before, he didn't feel so much like he was drowning anymore. He could breathe.

And he kept breathing.

He needed to stop making every reason to breathe about Sam, stop getting out of bed for Sam, stop doing stuff for Sam because Sam wasn't here anymore. It wasn't healthy. But he found it really hard to find other reasons. There weren't many. Not that he could see. He could make up as many as he wanted but they never lasted. 

"Hey," Gabriel said softly, nudging his arm, "You okay? You were- nevermind. You know why Cas is here, right? Why he moved?"

"He got a new job?"

"Kinda," he exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers on his leg, "I'm gonna let Cas handle this one."

"Personal?"

"A little, yeah. Whatever, we're talking about you today," he seemed to shake off that thought, plastering another friendly smile on his face, "Talk to me. Whats new in the life of Dean this week?"

Dean sighed, feeling the ever fluttering cluster of moths and butterflies in his chest grow restless again, but jumping into the conversation anyway. Maybe, he thought, the quicker he got this over with, the quicker he'd be free of it. The quicker he could go back to safe, familiar loneliness. 

* * *

Cas' idea, _boys night in_ , couple of beers and a movie or something. This was definitely something Dean could manage, low energy, pyjama clad event. After the initial event, consisting of the take out he talked Cas into and Batman ( _Cas had never seen any of them_ ), came the part Dean found most relaxing. They put on one of Deans old records, letting it play, and settled into the chairs and just talked. For hours. Mostly Cas talking about things he did as a kid and Dean listening. It meant he didn't have to think too hard, or start talking and watch him lose interest and start to panic. It was easy.

"I never used to be like this, you know," he said, "God I was horrid. I was one of those kids who couldn't take no for an answer and rules were a _challenge_. It was the last cop who booked me that planted the seed, he said I'd make a good one if I pulled my head outta my ass."

He laughed like it was a fond memory, watching the liquid in his bottle slowly move back and forth. Cas wasn't a heavy drinker, in fact Dean didn't think he drank at all. Probably why two drinks had him tipsy already, he lounged in his chair all loose and pliant and relaxed. And man could he talk.

"Course, my brother was the successful one," he said, maybe a little sourly, "He looked after me, since mom wasnt really... But thats how it was."

He fell silent, picking at the label on his bottle. Deep in his own thoughts. He didn't seem to notice that Dean hadn't said a word either, or maybe he was used to it by now. Glad of it even.

"Tell me something," he mumbled, Dean only just heard him over the record playing. "Anything. Just...how did you become a mechanic?"

"M-my dad," he replied, "Taught me the basics. Then Bobby took over, gave me a job. I've always liked cars really," Cas looked over to him, wide eyes big and blue, looking for more than that but not saying it. "Uh...I dunno. I guess my first was Baby, a '67 Chevy Impala my dad drove. Learned to drive in it, then Bobby gave me an old Firebird for my first car and I spent more time fixing it than driving it."

They both laughed, Cas went back to quietly picking at the label and the room fell into silence again for a short while, letting record run out and go back to scratching. Dean thought about getting up to change it but it was almost comforting.

"My dad was never around," Cas told him, "Mom worked her ass off to give us the best she could. Well, my brother anyway. He was the golden child. You're lucky, having great parents."

"I am, I don't deserve-" he stopped that thought in its tracks. He had to stop thinking like that. It helped no one. But he could sort of relate, feeling like he was sort of mediocre compared to his brother. Wouldn't say it though, he'd spent too long fighting it to let it win now.

"Promise me something Dean. Swear you wont lie to me," he asked quietly. He wouldn't look at Dean as he said it, eyes fixed on his hands. "You're my first friend in a long time and... Just promise."

"I swear I wont lie to you," he replied sincerely, feeling it was probably important to Cas. Cas who closed his eyes and breathed his gratitude like it meant more than just its face value.

Dean changed the record after a minute or two of silence, finally knowing what it was like being on the other side of it. He picked the Beatles one, it had a lot of memories tied to it. Falling asleep to his mom singing Hey Jude, listening to it on bad days, the records unique sound filling in the cracks while Dean tried hard not to fall apart. It was an audible comfort blanket, and he had the wild notion it might help Cas in some way too.

"Can you sing?" Cas asked in a husky voice, like he had too many bad thoughts and they were physically weighing him down. Dean could sing, but hadn't for a while now and didn't know how good he'd be. But he just promised not to lie.

"You want me to?"

"If you don't mind," he breathed, taking his legs up onto the chair and tipping his head back. He was tired, and Dean knew how it worked. Going bad places could take a toll on you, and when that happened you couldn't just drink some coffee and its all better.

So he sang for someone besides himself for the first time in a while, and didnt think about the butterflies fluttering round in his chest.

* * *

_Now the day bleeds_   
_Into nightfall_   
_And you're not here_   
_To get me through it all_

* * *

 

His parents bathroom was tacky and familiar. The three flying ducks on the robins eggshell blue wall, a shower curtain with ducks tucked inside the bath out of the way and matching white mats for the bath and sink. It'd been the same since Dean was sixteen, so ten years nearly. He came in here to throw up and ended up staying for half an hour just sitting in the dry bath with his cheek against the cool tiles, just letting the world fall away from him for a while. They'd understand. Mom always had anyway.

But it wasn't mom who knocked, it was dad, and his voice was low and unusually soft for him as he asked Dean to open the door or at least speak to him.

So he did, heaving himself out of the tub and checking himself before doing as he was asked. He didn't look mad, or frustrated, just full of concern. He took Dean back down the hall to his room, like he used to when he was a kid. It felt weird. Dean kept waiting for the punchline to come but it never did.

"You gonna be alright?" he asked, "You're not sick, just your...thing?"

He nodded, "Just my thing."

The man furrowed his brow, nodding to himself. He'd always had a little difficulty with Deans " _thing_ " as he called it. He tried, though, to understand that it wasn't as simple as getting a grip or getting over it. That Dean couldn't help it sometimes. He just had to deal with it. He got the feeling he was making the extra effort now that Dean was all he had left, he didn't have a "normal" son to dote on.

"You...wanna talk?" he asked tentatively, unsure of the right words.

"Theres nothing to really talk about."

"Nothing uh, set you off? Isn't that how it works?"

"Not all the time," Dean mumbled, his stomach started turning again. He wished he'd just left him in the bathroom. But he had to give him credit, this was the most hed asked about him in a while. That was moms job. "Sometimes it just...happens. Like uh...I'll feel sick or- Its not always predictable."

"How d'you feel now?" John pressed, "Anything I can do?"

"N-no offence cos I know you're trying and- but you're making it worse. Too many questions can sorta... I'm sorry," he ran his hand through his hair, "I appreciate you're- but the questions get too much sometimes.'"

His dad cursed and stood back a step or two, "Sorry I didn't mean- I'll get you something to drink."

And he turned away, disappearing downstairs leaving Dean at his door. He breathed in.

Counted to eight.

Let it go again.

Repeat.

It wasn't his fault, a lot of people before they learn make the mistake of too many questions all at once. It can feel like he's being interrogated, make it hard to answer and to think.

It wasn't Deans fault either.

He had to keep telling himself that.

Dad returned before he knew it, he must've spaced out again. He had a half pint of water, and handed it over quietly. Probably afraid to ask more just in case. Dean took the water, making sure he didn't drop it, didn't want to make a mess on top of everything else. It'd only stress him out more.

As John turned to walk away he quickly set the water down on the dresser and went after him, pulling him into a hug like he hadn't done since last year.

"Thank you," he told him quietly, "I know you want to understand but its hard to explain and- just thank you."

He didn't say anything, but hugged him in return and let Dean hang on for a moment. Like he sort of needed it too.

* * *

"Sorry I called so late but you weren't home and... it doesn't matter," Cas' voice came through the phone, sounding tired after his long day at work. It was sort of comforting to hear it, in a weird way. "I apologise if I woke you."

"Its okay I wasn't sleeping."

"Is everything alright?"

He exhaled slowly, he'd been feeling sick since this morning. Visiting their grandparents hadnt helped and neither had grandpa Samuels judgement. But the clean sheets and the room that wasn't filled with reminders helped a little, he was starting to feel normal again. Sleep wasn't an option though.

"Dean?"

"Its just been a long day."

Cas sighed on his end and there was a pause. Half of him wanted to believe Cas was fed up of his crap too, but he was probably just tired. It was past midnight and he'd been at work all day. Just tired.

"I was going to mention, Gabriel invited me to his place for drinks tomorrow evening. I was wondering if you wanted to come."

His voice was low, familiar, soothing. He realised, then, that if he could listen to him talking all night then he would. He'd stay up just to hear him read a damn phone book. Hell, he'd stay on the phone in silence for hours even. Cas was something solid, safe, good. Mom would say thats what he needed. Someone to lean on. Even if he was just a flatmate. Of course he wasnt just a flatmate anymore.

"I'll think about it," he mumbled, turning over again and pulling the sheets farther up. "Go to bed, you sound beat."

"I am beat but I need to do something. You should-" he cut off with a what Dean presumed was a yawn, proving his point. "Okay _fine_ it can be done tomorrow. Try sleep, Dean, you need it."

* * *

Dean was at his parents house, and the flat felt weird without him. Strangely quiet without music. Even with the occasional knock of the heating pipes and background noise of the street below. When he first came here the noise had distracted him, coming from a rather small town in comparison. It would be maddening without it now. He finally understood why Gabriel liked his city centre flat better than his old place.

He still thought moving here was best. He'd had enough time away from it all for the guilt to fade. For the horrible self-doubt to take its leave. Most of it was Deans doing, him and his quiet existence. He never bothered anyone, though he thought he did. And somehow he helped Castiel settle in without saying a word. He just let him do his thing. Gabriel was right about him, he was a good man despite everything. A lot of people would become bitter, but for some reason it made him kinder.

He listened to Castiels half baked ramblings about his old life, he didn't pry, just let him run his mouth.  That in itself was an achievement, he had more patience than Gabriel anyway.

"You know he likes you," one of Deans friends told him once, a redhead with cats on her shirt. Castiel has asked how she knew that, and she said "Because hes quiet around you. If he's nervous he just says stuff without thinking about it. Trust me, I've known him since grade school."

He had noticed how Dean was content to sit in silence, sometimes for hours on end. He just never thought about it.

He was so different from his own brother. Loud and very _there_. Michael liked to be known, and he was good at it. He basked in other people's attention, the golden child, leaving Castiel the second favourite. Second best as soon as Michael started excelling in school. For a long time he resented Michael, right up to the moment he left. Because he could never be good enough in his mothers eyes since he didn't have a high end job in some well paying company. No he was working for the people he used to despise. It didn't matter how quickly he managed to work his way through the ranks to her. Not until he said he was leaving, thats when she cared. By that point Castiel had become so jaded he was struggling to find himself under everything else.

He sat in the living room, at the piano for a while until it felt wrong. Now he was under the window with his back against the cold radiator breathing slowly trying to decide if he was just too caffeinated or if he was becoming an insomniac. He'd been there since he came off the phone with Dean. He needed to know if he was alright, hoping the peace of mind would let him sleep. Three hours ago. This house felt so lived in, he sometimes felt out of place. From the scuffs on the skirting boards by the door, a few marks on the walls where things had scraped as they were moved, right down to the cracked tiles in the kitchen and the little hairline fracture in the mirror in Castiels room. Dean had made a home with his brother and he felt like he was intruding sometimes, especially so soon after.

He had coffee in the mug with the moustache on it, one of the only things he brought with him from home. Gabriel gave it to him when he was fifteen, a joke because when his brother was sporting the ugliest bumfluff-beard Cas had ever seen, he was still completely free of facial hair. The rest of the room was in darkness aside from the dim light from the windows. Everything in blue and grey. Cold, like the untouched coffee. The blanket round his shoulders offered little in the way of warmth, and the hairs on his arms were raised with the gooseflesh covering every inch of exposed skin. Dean had told him to sleep, and he probably should be given he just came off a thirteen hour workday. All he wanted to do was sleep but something was stopping him.

He had his mug, phone and a photo album he found in the bookcase set out in front of him like an offering, all in a row. He'd flicked through the album, finding Deans normal life. Him and his brother, his father, mom and friends. Even Gabriel too. It made him wonder what he missed out on growing up how he did. He knew what people said about him back home too, they said he wasn't all there. He could go from good cop to bad cop in a split second. They said he was the black sheep. A screw loose, came off the line broken, stuff like that. Even Gabriel, he said he was " _Hard to swallow_."

What was so wrong with him? What was he doing to make people think that?

His entire damn life he didn't know why people thought what they did. As far as he knew he was normal. He couldnt really say what made him decide to pack his stuff and leave for Gabriels out of the blue. Well, he slept in his car once or twice before working up the nerve to call him.

And he got lucky here, with Gabriel being so understanding and Dean so kind as to welcome him into his home. Not many people would, given how people apparently saw him.

But he'd had none of that here. None of his colleagues said anything. None of his new friends. Nobody. They treated him like he was normal. Trust issues and all. In fact he was sure he heard Mrs Winchester call him a nice young man once.

"A nice, handsome young man," he thought he'd heard from the kitchen when she visited.

"Mom _stop_ ," Dean had replied and she just laughed. Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn't using it to fuel his ego.

The sun was already starting to come up, the morning rush hour traffic beginning on the street. A weird comfort. It was familiarity he supposed. So he tipped his head back and listened, closing his eyes to the sound of engines and car horns.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a reference to Medicine by Daughter, and the song in the middle is Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is long, and its still under construction chopping and changing here and there so chapter uploads will be sporadic and just go up as and when they're done. I promise I wont abandon this thing like I did with Blackbirds, which I fully intend to finish at some point, but this one is my current baby.  
> This chapter was really just partly an introduction and partly my impatience to get it up lol, and as a disclaimer Dean does have anxiety and his behaviors are gonna be based off personal experience and those of a few friends, it by no means represents anxiety as a whole and, again, it is simply a fic not a thesis or dissertation.   
> **PS The 2 songs not mentioned by name are Bruises by Lewis Capaldi and Corpse Roads by Keaton Henson, for those interested.


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